My Bad Reputation
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: Highschool AU PWP - Castiel has something of a reputation. Dean has something of a secret.


_I watched glee, and then this happened _

Dean barely notices when Adam breaks from his side just long enough to shove the skinny Goth kid into the block of lockers at the side of the hall. His eyes find the smiling face of Lisa outside of her Chem class and he returns her smile as, behind him, Castiel picks himself up off the floor and glares at the retreating letterman jackets that have ruined the start of another day.

Castiel opens his locker, finding his reflection in the rectangle of mirror glued to the tin door. His eyeliner and mascara are in the bottom of the tiny space, but he's already wearing enough of both, black hair messily falling over his outlined eyes. He picks up his books for the morning session and begins the walk to class, nursing his bruised shoulder.

He walks through the halls, ignoring the occasional stage whisper from clusters of girls or huddles of greasy and bepimpled boys. Whispers like 'fag' 'whore' and, interestingly, 'jezebel' which must have come from the choir girls near the fountain in the quad.

Those kooky Christians.

He takes a neat pair of pills for the pain in his shoulder. Well, one for the shoulder, one for the dullness of math, ducks through the door and takes up his seat at the back, where he spends the hour watching the birds outside and drawing wings and twisting hedges filled with eyes on the back of his notebook.

In retrospect he should have checked the dates on his stash.

When he gets back to his locker the faded paint across the door that, an hour previously, had read 'cocksucker' has been replaced with a neat line of marker, 'Castiel sucks cock - $4' under that someone else has added 'make sure you've got your shots'.

He stows his books and grins lazily to himself.

At least they're getting smarter.

Adam shoves him from behind and he smacks his head on the inside of his locker door, spider webbing mirror shards under his forehead.

"You son of a whore!" Castiel says, unaware that though it starts off as a mutter, the word 'whore' is actually a yell. He's frozen to the spot like a rabbit in skinny jeans when Adam turns around.

"What did you say?" Adam looks genuinely pleased, no one's ever gotten such a rise out of Castiel. (well, aside from all the men he's blown on and off campus – if rumours are to be believed.)

Castiel doesn't have many rules – but one is, if you say something – have the balls to repeat it to someone's face.

"I said, you're a son of a whore." He enunciates clearly. "Come to think of it..." he grins, "Doesn't your pool boy have that nose?"

Any further comment is cut off by Adam's grasp on his throat. The corridors are clear now, no one is going to come looking for the inattentive, unnoticed Castiel, and habitually absent Adam.

Dean is putting his football kit away in his gym locker when Adam bursts in with a wriggling freshman half held under his arm.

He raises his eyebrow as Adam tosses the skinny dark haired kid onto the floor.

"Seriously? It's only second period dude, what happened?"

"He called my Mom a bitch." Adam pants, getting his breath back from the long struggle to the locker room.

"I called her a whore you...idiot." Castiel grimaces from the floor. "The pool boy your cousin or something?" He blinks up at his tormentor. "Did some inbreeding go into that blank look?"

"Shut up." Adam punches him in the stomach. Dean jumps up from the bench he's sitting on.

"Hey...you're on probation, remember?"

Adam glares at him.

"Get Ruby's uniform." He growls.

Dean frowns.

"Do it!" Adam snarls, shaking Castiel like a dying rat to keep him stunned and pliant. Dean looks at him for a second longer. He isn't afraid of Adam, but he is his team mate – his captain, and he's supposed to bow to his authority. If he doesn't, well, Adam knows just enough stuff about him to make life hard, harder than it is. He doesn't even know the emo kid, certainly doesn't owe him.

He gets the uniform.

Castiel struggles, kicks out as they divest him of his pants, fights them as they slide the red and gold skirt up his thighs, tug his shirt off and replace it with the red tank top. He claws Adam's arm, and through the receding fuzz of gratuitous medication, acknowledges that this is what he gets for raising his voice against a tide of whispers, scribbling and wordless shoves.

At last, the two jocks sit back, panting, and admiring their handiwork.

"There a point to this?" Dean asks, as Castiel tries to bolt and Dean has to drag him back down and pin him to the tiled floor.

"Yeah, I'm going to go get my camera." Adam grins unpleasantly, looking down at Castiel. "This is going to make a great addition to your reputation. Faggot."

Castiel struggles and bucks but Dean is sitting astride his hips and he can't get away, he also can't think of a witty retort, not with the scratchy cheerleading kilt and the bareness of his legs feeling so wrong and his makeup blurring with pained tears at the bruises forming on his skin.

Adam darts away and his footfalls echo in the empty locker-room.

"You didn't have to help him, asshole." Castiel snarls, finding his voice.

Dean glares down at him.

"You didn't have to call his mom a whore." He retorts.

Castiel knows he has a point, but he's pissed off and about to be humiliated again.

"So that means I deserve this?" he growls. "Just because I finally got sick of everyone pushing me around and lying about me."

"Yeah, because you don't show yourself off." Dean hisses. "Pretty sure, if you want people to stop calling you a cock sucker, you could just stop doing it." He frowns. "Walking around in makeup – also not a great way to stop people thinking you're a fag."

"My face. My mouth." Castiel tries to wriggle away again. "I can put anything I like on or in myself, you can either get in line or shut up." He's angry and blinded by humiliation, otherwise he knows he wouldn't still be talking. He also might have noticed the pressure against his stomach sooner if he was paying attention.

He wriggles once more in an attempt to gain freedom, and Dean's hard on presses back into his flat stomach.

Castiel freezes, and Dean does as well, knowing that Castiel can feel his excitement, that he is so, utterly, busted.

"I would ask if that's a pen..." Castiel says, mouth dry and brain spinning with the effort of trying to fit the jagged shards of what used to be true in with this new picture. "But I think we both know what it is."

"Shut up." Dean growls, sitting back and looking around for Adam. Castiel frees one hand and presses it suddenly to the bulge in Dean's jeans. The other boy groans and, though his own hand comes up to remove Castiel's massaging fingers, he ends up merely pressing them closer.

"Look at you..." Castiel whispers, wonderstruck, bringing their faces very close as Dean relaxes under his hand. "ready to...pop." He spreads his legs a little, and the new position allows Dean to press his dick, itself pushed into the zipper of his jeans, under the skirt and against Castiel's cock, which is perking up now that it knows there's a prospect close by. Dean's breath comes out, harsh and excited.

"Want me to take care of that?" Castiel asks, genuinely getting flushed and hot under Dean's hungry gaze. He rolls their groins together. Dean sucks in a breath. "Want to let me up?...let me suck you?" Castiel murmurs, prepared to get his rocks of and acquire his freedom in one dizzyingly good blow job. He's already wondering what Dean'll taste like, how thick he'll feel on his tongue.

"Found it."Adam calls, and Dean drags himself away from Castiel like a tidal wave in reverse – force and power recoiling at speed.

Castiel is left, dazed, hard and not a little freaked out, on the tiles of the floor.

"Get out of here." Dean growls, turning to intercept Adam.

Castiel, does not need telling twice.

He changes in the bathroom, stuffing the cheerleader uniform into his bag for lack of a better hiding place. Trashing it will just attract attention to it – better to throw it into a trash can further away from school.

Then there is the matter of Dean. Castiel, is not quite the whore everyone thinks him to be. He's blown three guys from the mixed high school across town, and only one from their own catholic high school (who was later expelled when weed was discovered in his locker – a parting gift from Castiel once the asshole told the entire school that he was a diseased, junkie, whore.) He takes a few pills, he gets off with a few guys – and suddenly there's an enormous reputation on his doorstep.

But Dean...Castiel can still feel the phantom press of that erection. The worry and fear in the other boys eyes even as they grew hazy with pleasure. The directness, the almost gallant escape he had masterminded.

Dean Winchester – hot, gay and undoubtedly looking for from someone to take the edge off of it for him.

Castiel corners him in the library at lunch time. Dean is sitting alone, the library is otherwise empty and Castiel knows that this is the best time to get a word in with the 'real' Dean, without fear of be rebuffed.

He drops into the chair opposite him, setting down his can of coke without greeting and waiting for Dean's response to this display of daring.

Dean glances at him fearfully, and then checks the library for people he might know.

"What do you want?" he asks, guardedly.

"What do you think?" Castiel asks cockily. "You had my hands all over your dick earlier...you think I don't want to finish the job?" He frowns in mock severity. "I'm not a tease."

Dean looks simultaneously terrified and aroused by this proposal. Still he attempts to tough it out.

Give that man a medal for effort.

"I'm not gay." Dean hisses. "Go...finish, someone else." He glares at Castiel but Castiel refuses to move.

"Can I paint you a picture for a second?" Castiel pops the tab on his coke and inserts a straw with exaggerated care. "You're what I'd call a 'late in life gay' which means you're going to stay in the closet, get married, get drunk to have relations with your wife, and have a couple of kids. Maybe you'll become a manager at a hardware store, or hell – make the state senate. Then one day, someone'll catch you in the men's room with either an intern or a bag boy – and that'll be it for you. No more hiding."

Castiel takes a delicate pull on the straw in his coke can, releasing it with a wet, 'pop'.

"Of course by then you'll be so impacted and screwed up by repression you'll have no hope of a stable relationship, and the only men who are going to want to fuck your fifty year old self loathing self will be charging you."

Dean clenches his fists on the surface of the table.

"What the hell do you want from me?" he growls through gritted teeth.

"Nothing." Castiel says lightly. "I'm even going to do you a favour." He smiles slightly. "You can come with me, tonight, and I'll show you exactly who you're supposed to be." He looks up at Dean through his lashes, challenge evident in them. "Sex, no waiting, no loathing and no unfortunate publicity."

Dean looks at him carefully, a complex look of surprise, interest, ardour and...what might be concern.

"Do you talk to all of them like this? The men you see?"

"Like what?" Castiel asks.

"Like a hooker." Dean says, pointedly, but not derisively.

Castiel feels a stab of shame, and covers it with anger.

"If you're not interested..." he gets up.

"I didn't say that." Dean says too quickly.

Castiel turns back to him with a satisfied expression on his face.

"My house, Holyoak Drive – number fourteen. After nine my parents will be gone." He gives Dean the final once over. "I hope you've had your shots." He adds, giddy with the ridiculousness of this, of bedding someone who would have happily tortured him to keep his secret safe.

Dean is left, frowning to himself, inexplicably aroused and saddened by the strange boy's attitude towards him.

He'd dearly love to do the right thing, to not sleep with someone so clearly out of their depth and drowning in a reputation built on bad moves and crappy choices...but he's only a teenager – and a horny one at that. Altruism requires more blood flow to the brain.

He turns up at Castiel's home, a non-entity of a house, two stories of white clapboard and a porch. Castiel opens the door for him just before he knocks, grins and follows him into the hallway, pointing the way upstairs.

"Glad you came." Are the first words he says, as Dean opens the bedroom door for them, spotting the made bed with its blue sheets and a condom on the bedside table. Castiel turns him, moves him until Dean's sitting on the bed and Castiel can sit beside him.

"How are we doing thi..." Dean's question is cut off by Castiel's mouth, smooth and practiced, catching his lips and parting them after a few seconds, hungrily sweeping his tongue inside of Dean's mouth.

Dean's dizzy even before Castiel's hand reaches his crotch, thumbing open the button of his jeans and lowering the zipper.

"Wait..." he gasps, just as Castiel's fingers dart inside, teasing the line of his cock through his underwear. Castiel does at least pause.

"What?" he asks softly.

"What are we doing?" he says, and then, realising that this might be taken for more than he meant it to, he clarifies. "They two of us...how are we going to..." he breaks off, unaccountably embarrassed.

"I thought you wanted me to..." Castiel frowns. "If you don't want that then why come here?"

"I want..." Dean shakes his head, the heat of Castiel's hand on him more than he can bear. "the whole thing." He gasps, as Castiel's fingers twitch against him. "All the way." Dean swallows. "this is my only shot at this."

Castiel freezes.

"I'm not bottoming for you." He huffs derisively.

"I'm not asking you to." Dean rumbles shyly, mouth dry. He can't look Castiel in the face.

"Ohhh." Castiel chuckles, but not unkindly. "Didn't see that coming." He seems to chew this new arrangement over for a second. "Ok, take your clothes off, let's see what we're working with." He says, with a lot more assurance than he feels.

Dean strips hesitantly, and Castiel slides out of his own shirt and pants while he does so, making him feel less like he's being observed. In fact Castiel looks Dean over quite thoroughly, broad and tanned and strong backed – perfect.

He guides Dean quickly to the bed, laying him down and sliding on top of him, kissing hi before he can form a doubt or a plan for escape. They kiss and rut and grope blindly at each other's naked skin for what feels like an eternity before Castiel reaches for the condom, rips open the packet, rolls it on and nudges Dean over onto his stomach, moving between his legs.

"Hey..." Cas nipped the lobe of Dean's ear, already pressing down on him. "You think this is going to hurt?" he rasps.

Dean's eyes widen. "You mean you don't kno-"

Castiel pushes in, turning Dean's sentence into a drawn out moan of "Knnn-oohhh-w" as he feels the dull ache and immediate burning throb of the violation. His body tenses, he fists the sheets, and Castiel, the _shit,_ just moans, eyes closed, slack mouth trailing against his pulse.

By the time Dean regains the power of speech and forces his body to relax, all he can muster is –

"You...son, of a...bitch."

Castiel just chuckles lazily to himself and starts moving.

Dean winces, another stuttering growl of discomfort caught in his throat. Castiel stills himself with an effort.

"Dean...I can stop if it hurts."

Dean is still and rigid, face pressed into the crook of his elbow, back a hard line of tension. He groans something into his arm.

"What?" Castiel leans a little closer, panting with the effort of staying still.

Dean moves his head to one side, lips parting wetly.

"Fuck me." he gasps, eyes glazed and cheeks flushed with colour. He pushes back against Castiel, driving him a little deeper and whimpering brokenly. "Fuck me." he begs again, and Castiel pitches his hips back into the rhythm as Dean dissolves into a flurry of moans and hoarse, incomprehensible whines.

"Uh...you feel good." Castiel bucks, feeling his back and thighs tense. "Really...holy fuck,it's so hot...tight..." he falters into a long groan. He grits his teeth and focuses on not coming because, he's never done this before, and he wants it to last. Dean moans encouragement and the sounds of flesh meeting, of the slide of latex against the rim of Dean's entrance are magnified as the room shrinks down to comprise of only the two of them, and the bed.

"Dean..." Castiel is twitching now, abdomen and cock ticking with spasms as he gets closer and closer.

Dean makes an inarticulate sound, sort of like 'guh' which Castiel takes to mean that he's listening.

"Are you..." and then Dean makes a strangled sound of relief, bucking a little as he rubs his spending cock into the sheets. Castiel whines, deep in his throat, fuelled by the feeling of Dean clenching around him and the thought of his come soaking into Castiel's mattress.

"Dean...if, if I promise I'm..._uh..._clean...can I..." He thrusts feverishly into the lax body of his partner. "Can I take...the rubber off..." He gets out, through gritted teeth.

Dean tenses a little, but 'mmm's' softly, and when Castiel still doesn't move, raises his scratchy voice enough to say. "Yeah...just...just do it."

Castiel pulls out of Dean as quickly as possible, eliciting a grunt of discomfort, he strips the sheath of pearlescently daubed latex off, dropping it to the floor and lining the come beaded head of his unshod cock back up with Dean's puffy and abused hole.

"Sure?" he pants, to which Dean barely has the energy to grunt a reply in the affirmative.

Going in uncovered is pure heaven. Castiel can feel the slight ridges of veins in the wall of the hole that sheaths him, can barely think for the heat of flesh on intimate flesh, the rough slide of skin on hidden, internal skin.

He moans, rutting hard and fast into the bare channel, slicking it with uncontrolled pulses of pre-come as his stomach clenches and his balls draw up, heat flooding his body in a wave as pleasure throbs through him. Dean makes small, pleasured sounds at the continued stimulation, the raw flesh inside of him and the feeling of hot darts of come filling him up. Castiel shudders, bracing one hand on Dean's back as he jerks in climactic detachment. The next moment all he's aware of is the warm body under his and the soft contentment that uncoils his muscles, laying him out for the night.

They rearrange themselves sleepily and Castiel lays his head on Dean's shoulder in a show of unorthodox intimacy. Dean pets his hair, stroking his back and wondering if, perhaps, he can defy Castiel's dire predictions and have what he wants – perilously and in the open.

"No one's let me do that before." Castiel says quietly.

"Without a condom?"

"Any way." Castiel murmurs.

Dean stays silent for a moment.

"You were good." He says awkwardly. "Really...You didn't even touch me...there, and I still came." He strokes further down, fingers finding the swell of Castiel's naked ass. "Felt better than I thought it would...better than anything else."

"For me to." Castiel sighs.

Dean shifts nervously. "Maybe we could...do it again, some other time?"

Castiel stiffens, certain that he must have misheard. "Maybe." He hedges. "If you wanted."

"Of course I do." Dean mutters. "It felt..." he blushes. "And...maybe you're not so bad, either."

"Yeah, I'm pretty ok for a cock sucker." Castiel mutters bitterly, unkind humour edging his words. Dean hold him fast when he tries to pull away.

"You're more than some...cock sucking slut." He says roughly. "Stop pretending that you're not."

"I think I am." Castiel says, softly. "Everyone else thinks I am."

"I don't agree." Dean says. And it's those three little words, not 'I love you' but so similar in the way they lay him open and vulnerable.

Those three words that begin a future in which Dean most definitely doesn't make the senate, and though he does end up working at a hardware store – he never has to get drunk to 'have relations' with his partner. The crazy bastard who weasels out of every chore and uses phrases like 'have relations'


End file.
